Mutinous
by Frannie1
Summary: COMPLETE. Joseph Nagel's life, from his time with his parents to his mutiny aboard the HMS Defender, to his final transfer to the HMS Surprise under Captain Lucky Jack Aubrey. Reviews welcome. Prove that you support Nagel!
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: This story is mostly based off of the books. I do not own or claim to own any of Patrick O'Brian's characters, but a good many of the characters are mine. Also, it has been brought to my attention by a reviewer that I had some anachronistic errors. The cigarettes only popped into my head because of _Angela's Ashes_ (I'm not going to explain why here) and I just kept writing without thinking--by the time I typed it, I wasn't really concerned with the error. The reviewer also pointed out that Joe would not have had his own room--I also realized that, but I wanted him to have his own bedroom for the purposes of those sections. And thanks to Marion, I thought of a new addition to the plot. 

"Joseph! Joseph Brian Nagel--this is your mother, now open the door or I'll have your father break it down." Joseph sat on his bed, staring at the closed door. He was fourteen and old enough to understand that when his father _did_ come back home, he would be too drunk to even _open_ his son's door. 

"Joseph, please open the door," his mother pleaded. 

There was a small crack in the door just big enough to see through. Joseph could see one large blue eye--his mother's. "You promise you won't yell?" he called, getting to his feet. 

"I promise I won't yell," she replied softly. He opened the door and she went on loudly, "But when your father comes home, you're going to get such a spanking!" She grabbed him by his ear and pulled him out of the room. "What were you thinking? Miss Henry has been nothing but kind to us, and you go and do an awful thing like that. You know how much she loves those birds." 

"We were only playing," Joseph interjected. 

His mother narrowed her eyes. "Who were you with?" Joseph bit his lip and she cried, "Not that Peter Wells again! I told you already, Joseph, you're not to have a thing to do with that lazy boy. He's gotten you into enough trouble as it is. Besides," she began, "you're not to be lazing around as he does--his family has all the money in the world. We _work_ in this family, Joseph." 

"Father doesn't work!" Joseph burst out angrily. "I seen him at the pub--spending all the money he makes at the shipyard! He's a drunk and you know it!" 

His mother's hand came swiftly across his face, stinging horribly. "_Shame_ on you for speaking of your father like that!" Joseph stumbled back a few paces, lightly cupping his cheek in his hand. He didn't look at his mother, but slowly backed away from her, toward the wall. She had never hit him before; that had always been his father's job. She eventually left the room, and it wasn't until after midnight that someone entered his bedroom. 

Joseph had just awoken from a restless sleep to the sound of dripping water from a leaky gutter pipe outside his window. His eyes flew open when his creaking door was opened. 

"Joe," came a raspy voice. "Joe…it's your father speakin' to ya!" he nearly yelled. 

Joseph sat up and looked straight at him. His father's whiskery face was glistening with a mixture of sweat and ale in the dull moonlight as he stumbled through the room. "Father, it's late…you should be resting." 

"Now you listen, boy," his father slurred, "you take care of your mother. When I'm gone, you take care of 'er, you 'ear?" 

Joseph nodded quickly, glancing at the bottle in his father's hand. He stood up bravely and cried, "You've spent it all, haven't you? All the money--you've wasted it all on that!" He pointed at the nearly empty bottle. 

His father stumbled forward. "Now you watch what you say to your elders--make your mother upset, it will." 

With a glare at his father, he turned to climb back into his bed. 

His father, however, was not finished. "Hey!" he said loudly, swinging the bottle against the doorframe. It shattered and he took no notice. "If I ever catch you down at the yards again, you'll have a whipping waiting for you, you 'ear? I nearly 'ad to beg for me drink." He stepped closer until he was standing at the edge of Joseph's bed. Shards of glass cracked beneath his worn shoes. "Where'd you put my wages, son?" He began rummaging through drawers. 

"I didn't take your wages," Joseph retorted. "You probably spent them all on whisky and forgot." 

His father grabbed his nightshirt and pulled him close to his face. Joseph turned away from his hot breath. "Don't lie to me, boy! You stole them!" 

"I _didn't_," Joseph shot back. "Only you're too drunk to tell!" 

At that moment, his mother burst into the room. "William! Lord, put him down." Joseph was thrust back onto his rickety bed. She rushed over to her son, putting a comforting arm around him. "William, this is your son! What's come over you?" 

"He's gone and stolen my wages, that's what!" his father shouted. 

"I didn't, Mother, I swear I didn't!" Joseph cried earnestly, clutching his mother's arm. "I wasn't at the shipyards today!" 

"He's a dirty liar, Molly, always has been," his father sneered. "Rotten thief stealing from his own family and probably using it to buy useless trinkets from those bloody gypsies!" 

"_I_ took you earnings," his mother stepped in. "Now, would you quiet down? They can probably hear you both all the way to London!" She said this in a hushed but urgent voice. 

His father stuck a hand out, palm up. "I'd like me money _now_, Molly." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pouch. Once it was in his hand, he counted it and walked away. "Go back to sleep, darling," his mother said softly, kissing his forehead. 

Joseph awoke the next morning to an empty house. His father was gone for good, he assumed, since he had taken all of his belongings. The tobacco from the bedside table was gone, as well as any bottles that contained more than a drop of whisky or ale. Perhaps he had a mistress, Joseph thought, and he was going to live with her. 

He sat on Peter Wells' brilliantly painted porch, throwing small rocks and pebbles onto the cobbled street. It had been a week since his father had left them and Joseph's mother had allowed him to freely visit Peter's house. She said it gave her more time to look for a job without worrying about where he was and what he was doing, but Joseph knew she only sat on her bed or in his father's favorite chair sobbing into her worn hands or her dirty apron. 

It soon came to the point where Joseph spent more time at Peter's home than his own. He had never been a happy child, but being with Peter and the Wells family did make him feel as though he was happy. He had even formed a special bond with Peter's elder sister, Emeline. She was four years his senior at eighteen, but it didn't seem to bother her, so it didn't bother him either. 

"Joe, not here," she whispered, a smile playing on her lips. "My parents will be home any minute. Besides, it's bad luck to kiss before the wedding." 

"You're making that up," he said, kissing her lips. 

She pushed him away, having to pull her own lips from his. "We'll have plenty of time for this later," she said softly. 

"But you'll be going off to a university soon," he said, holding her hand. 

"You'll come visit me, won't you?" Emeline asked, her blue eyes wide and hopeful. "I couldn't bear it if you didn't come. I shouldn't be going to a university at all, but you know how parents can be." 

Joseph put a finger to her lips. "Shh." He gently pulled her into a passionate kiss. 

Suddenly the door flew open. "Emeline?" her father called out. Moments later her mother appeared with an oil lamp. 

Emeline pushed Joseph away and ran to her mother. "He came at me, Mother! He said if I didn't let him have me, he'd slit my throat!" 

Joseph looked at her with a mixture of hurt and fury in his eyes. "Mr. Wells, I didn't do nothing at all! She's lying!" 

Mr. Wells grabbed him by his arm and pulled him through the house and out the door. "I knew you'd be trouble from the start, Nagel. I saw the way you've been eying my daughter. Now, get out!" He threw him down into the street. 

Joseph waited for the door to slam shut before he walked away. He hadn't been home for nearly a week, but he knew his mother probably hadn't even noticed. He pushed open the door. It was completely silent and dark. The candles had all burned out. "Mum?" he called. There was no reply. He stepped into the kitchen. There were a few dirtied plates and cups from a meal or two, but she wasn't there. He started down the hallway. Maybe she was reading and hadn't heard him calling. "Mother?" The door to her bedroom was closed and he tentatively opened it. What he saw made him turn away. She had taken her own life. She had tied a rope to the beam in the ceiling and hanged herself. 

"No," he murmured when he was able to look at her. He pushed the bed so it was underneath her dangling feet and cut the rope. With a sickening thud, her head hit the wooden headboard. He sat down on the bed, cradling her delicate head in his arms. Angry, bitter tears fell from his eyes. If he had been there, he would have been able to stop her. Perhaps it was because of _him_ that she did it. It was his fault…. 

In the days that followed, Joseph became angrier with himself and everyone around him. The church refused to give his mother a proper burial because of her sinful death. He scorned the church and never returned. Instead, he found a nice plot of land by the sea and buried her there, below a tree. And instead of making a headstone, he carved her name and birth and death dates into the tree. Joseph hoped that whoever owned the land had not see him. 

He knelt next to her grave and set a bouquet of wildflowers next to the tree. "Well, you always said you'd wanted to come 'ere. I knew you would've liked to've seen the sea at least once…I'm just sorry I never took you here meself. You'd've really liked it." He pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, breathing deeply. "I wish you would've told me what was botherin' you. Maybe we could've talked it out. Maybe I was feeling the same dark, scary loneliness…" 

Joseph spent the next few years of his life wandering aimlessly about the city, doing odd jobs for local shops and people. When he was sixteen, he acquired a permanent position with a carpenter and learned the skills of the trade. And at seventeen, he was drafted into the Royal British Navy. 


	2. Chapter Two

"You'll be all right, won't ye?" the carpenter asked, hanging his tools on the wall. He had taken Joseph under his wing and grown quite attached to the young boy. "You'll get breakfast and supper?" 

"I don't know," Joseph replied in an exasperated tone. He sighed. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, Burt. I can take care of meself." He slung his pack over his shoulder. "Be seeing you." He smiled and exited the shop. 

Burt ran after him, calling, "Joe! Joe, don't get yourself killed, hear?" 

"I'll try!" Joseph called back. 

The _Defender_ wasn't set to depart for another five days, so he had plenty of time to get there on foot. He passed by his old home of the way. It still surprised him at how large it was. He had gotten used to living in a one-room shanty, and the truth was, if they hadn't inherited the old house, he would have lived in a shack all his life. There was a new family living there. The kids were playing in the street while their parents sat inside drinking cheap tea and eating stale biscuits. He thought about asking if they had known his mother, but before he had decided, it was too late to go back. 

Soon after, he spotted the Wells residence. He snorted. _Their_ house didn't look as though it had caved in. They must have run into money, he thought. 

All of the sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a mature-sounding woman. "Joe? Joseph Nagel, is that you? You look so different, I hardly recognized you!" 

He stared at her, remembering the last time they had been together. She had stood in front of her parents, accusing him of trying to rape her. 

Her smile ebbed slightly. "Well, don't just stand there, say something! Don't you remember me? It's Emeline Wells!" 

"I remember, Miss Wells," he said, removing his stocking cap. 

"Well, are you going to kiss me hello or not?" she demanded, sticking her cheek out at him. 

"Wouldn't be proper, Miss," he said, ignoring her rosy cheek. Joseph put his hat back on and started to walk away. "Good day." 

She looked flustered for a moment, and then cried, "Joe! Joe, wait!" He stopped. "What's the matter with you? I know the last time we met, the circumstances weren't exactly wonderful, but…can't we put it behind us? I have." 

"I'm happy for you," Joseph replied coolly. "But you didn't get thrown out into the street when you were fourteen." He turned to her, sighing. "Look, I've got to be on my way. I've been drafted into the Navy." 

"Oh? Which ship?" she questioned. 

"_Defender_," Joseph responded. "I don't want to be late, so…" 

"The _Defender_ doesn't pull out until Monday--you've got plenty of time to get there." She grasped his hands. "Why don't you stay with me? We've a lovely guestroom that we never use. Oh, please, Joe," she insisted. "We can take the buggy down to the port on Sunday." She smiled. "Peter's in the Navy as well. He's a lieutenant." 

"You must be proud," Joseph said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

"Come," she said, beaming. 

"Your parents won't _approve_," he said worriedly as she pulled him through the door. "I'll find an inn--." He stopped. Her father was sitting in a velvet armchair by the fire. Joseph would recognize that bald head anywhere. 

"Who's that with you, Emeline?" he asked, turning around in his chair. 

"It's Joseph Nagel, Father," she replied slowly and clearly. Mr. Wells blinked a few times. "Don't you remember him? He and his mother lived a few blocks away…until she died." 

Mr. Wells was silent for a moment, then he said, "Molly Nagel…wonderful lady. Terrible husband…gave her that boy…can't place him, I'm afraid. They were that poor family…God knows how they lost all that money." 

Joseph narrowed his eyes. Money? What was the old man on about? But before he could think on it, Emeline took his arm again and pulled him away. 

"Sorry, Joe, my father forgets things. Mother and I don't know what to do with him," she said, shaking her head. "I told them that I accused you falsely, but he doesn't remember that I lied in the first place." She led him up a staircase and into the guestroom. "It's a bit dusty--we never even come up here. Peter!" she suddenly exclaimed. 

Peter Wells turned from the full-length mirror to face them. He was wearing a tight-fitting blue uniform and had been adjusting his hat before they entered. 

Joseph suddenly felt embarrassed to be wearing a filthy white shirt and trousers. "What are you doing up here, Peter?" Emeline questioned. 

"Making sure my uniform fits," Peter replied with a toss of his blonde hair as he made to tie it back. "You know how tailors are these days," he added pompously. He stared at Joseph for what felt like an eternity, and then said, "Ah…John Nagel, was it?" 

"Joe," he replied. 

"You're to be serving together," Emeline said cheerfully, "on the _HMS Defender_." 

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Really? As what, Joe? Certainly not a midshipman, I hope. They generally give those positions to admirals' sons and wealthy people." Even if Joseph had wanted to speak, he could not have gotten a word in edgewise. "Lord knows you may have been wealthy once, but that was such a long time ago--they couldn't possibly give you that post!" 

"They _haven't_," Joseph said quickly before Peter was able to speak again. "I'm an assistant to the carpenter. I've been drafted into the Navy--I didn't sign up." 

"Erm, perhaps I'll see if I can whip up some tea for us all." Emeline disappeared. 

"I know you think you're better than me," Joseph began, "but we used to play together when we were lads. Don't you even remember, Peter?" 

"Oh, I remember," Peter said, beginning to pace in front of the carpenter's assistant. "I remember you licking my boots to catch a glimpse of the good life. If your parents hadn't invested all the money in that shipyard--and then when it fell through, your father spent the rest of the fortune drowning his sorrows in drink--." 

Joseph, suddenly feeling the anger in him rising, grabbed the newly promoted lieutenant by the shirt and lifted him up against the wall. "You'd better watch what you say about my father." 

"Joseph…Joseph, I'm so sorry, of course," Peter said in a panicked voice. "Please put me down!" 

Still glaring at him, Joseph hesitantly lowered Peter to the ground. He turned away and started down the staircase. He didn't belong here. He needed to get out and get out quickly. He-- 

"Joe," Emeline exclaimed, "what are you doing?" She stepped in front of him rapidly, blocking the door. "You mustn't leave." 

"I can't stay here," Joseph protested. 

"Please, don't go," she said. 

"What reason do I have not to?" he asked, frustrated. 

"I don't want you to." She clasped his hands for the second time that day. "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened to you." He rolled his eyes, looking anxious, and she continued, "But I want to make it up to you!" He sighed. "Please, Joseph!" 

"You _can't_ make it up to me. Nobody can." He pulled his hands from hers. "What do you want from me, anyway?" 

She clasped his hands even more tightly, and then put her lips on his. Joseph tried to pull away, but she held him close. He gave in, kissing her back, and slipped his hands under her red curls, cupping her delicate face in his rough hands. 

"Emeline!" a voice cried. 

She pulled away from him, exclaiming, "Mother!" For a moment, a fleeting moment, Joseph had thought that she cared for him. But she was going to do the same thing she had done all those years ago. "Mother, Joseph and I are in love and there is nothing you can do." Joseph's eyes widened in surprise. 

"Child, listen to what you're saying!" her mother said frantically. Suddenly the hard look disappeared from her eyes. "Joseph? Joseph Nagel? This is who you're in love with?" 

"Yes, Mother, and there's n--." 

"Nothing I can do, yes, I know." Mrs. Wells stepped closer to Joseph, wiping her hands clean on her apron. She gently pushed his bangs away from his eyes, now inches away from his face. "Yes, your hair was shorter then. You could really use a good cut. No daughter of mine is going to marry a man with hair like that." 

"Mother, Peter has long hair as well," Emeline pointed out, holding Joseph's hand. 

"Yes, but his hair is clean," Mrs. Wells said quietly. "Now. When are you to be wed?" 

"Wed?" Joseph said, his throat suddenly dry. "Pardon, Ma'am, but we're not getting married." 

"Joe's right," Emeline said, nodding to her mother. To him, she said, "You haven't even proposed yet." 

"Erm…Emeline, maybe we should…discuss this," he said slowly. 

"Discuss what? There's nothing _to_ discuss! You love me, don't you?" she questioned, her eyes wide. 

"I don't know," he replied. She stared into his eyes with her blue and glassy ones, now threatening to spill over with tears. Ripping her hand from his grasp, she ran out of the door. "Emeline!" he cried. "Emeline, stop! Come back!" he called after her. The night was dark and all he could hear were the quick sounds of her retreating footsteps on the cobbled street. 


	3. Chapter Three

Emeline didn't look back. She needed to get away from him. If he didn't love her, she had nothing. Her father was a deteriorating old man and her mother was quickly becoming an old woman. Suddenly she slipped, tumbling forward and grazing her cheek on a jagged rock. She had been blocking the noise out before, but now she could hear boisterous laughter and talking. When she finally forced herself to her feet, she found she was standing before a pub. She had never seen it before, but this was one of the more dangerous parts of town. She stared into the window, listening to the few voices she could make out. 

"I think most of the crew is right here!" one commented, waving his arm about the room. "Served with some o' them before, and let me tell you this: All we need's one more lousy captain to push us over the edge." 

"You mean like Selby?" 

"Beast of a man if I ever saw one," the first replied. "I though mutiny was sure to break out on the last run. So, what do ya hear of this one, Jim?" 

"What, Captain Evans?" the second questioned while the first nodded. "I 'ear 'e works the men 'ard and don't give 'em near enough grog at the end of the day. One mission, in a fit o' fury, he dumped all the grog straight into the sea! Crew was furious, but Evans is a terrible man with a whip. I still 'ave the scars, I tell ya." 

Emeline gasped as someone grabbed her shoulder. She whirled around and slapped Joseph in the face. "Joe! Don't _scare_ me like that!" 

"You been listening to what the boys have to say, eh?" he asked, ignoring the sting in his cheek. 

Her eyes suddenly filled with terror. "Please, Joe, you _mustn't_ get on that ship! The crew, they're going to mutiny! What if you're killed? What if Peter's killed?" She stopped, as if an idea had suddenly struck her, took Joseph's hand, and began marching home. "Neither of you must go. You shall stay here where it's safe." 

"I'm not going to be in danger, 'cause there won't be a mutiny," Joseph insisted. "You know what crews are like--they talk." 

She stopped. "They talk?" 

He nodded. "All the time." 

She hugged him then, so tightly that he felt he couldn't breathe. He could feel her warm tears on his neck. "If anything ever h-happened to you, I'd n-never f-forgive myself," she sobbed. 

"Emeline," he said, forcing her to look into his eyes, "_nothing_ is going to happen to me. Besides, do you really think Peter would let something bad happen to his brother-in-law?" 

"What?" she asked, confused. "What do you mean?" 

He took her hands in his. "Will you be my wife, Emeline?" 

"Do you mean it?" 

Joseph nodded slowly. "Am I the joking sort?" She threw her arms around him again, sobbing joyously, and it felt right. 


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I dug myself a hole and had to get out of it before I could write any more. There _is_ more coming--I'm trying to finish this tale. Hopefully it won't be as long of a wait. Once again, I owe Patrick O'Brian for Nagel and a few others that haven't appeared yet. 

_Darling Joseph. I am writing to give my love and inform you that we shall meet again in London this autumn. I have arranged it all. Father passed away from the fever, so only Mother and I will be able to come. There will be someone else, but I am not sure if it will be a little boy or girl. Ever faithful, Emeline._

Joseph pulled the letter away from the candlelight. His wife was having a baby--he was a _father_. He couldn't believe it. How could it have happened so quickly? Was it even his? He smiled, embarrassed at his own foolish thoughts. The baby belonged to him and no other man--he was sure of it. She was ever faithful, as it said in the letter. 

"Joe." 

He glanced up at the burly crewman, immediately overwhelmed by his unique odor. "What is it, Davies?" 

"Captain wants to see you," the man grunted. 

"Me?" Joseph repeated. "What for?" 

Davies was suddenly annoyed. "They don't tell _me_ nothin'--just go!" 

Joseph got to his feet and started toward the captain's chambers. He wasn't overly fond of Captain Evans. He was a shrewd, thin man with a whiny voice and a love affair with discipline. Joseph had only seen him privately one other time, and he had spent the entire time explaining why he and his crew had repaired the mast improperly. Joseph, after a battle, had gone with a few of the other carpenters to repair the mast. They did a beautiful job of it as well, but for some reason, the wood had begun to chip the very next day. He still believed it was just carping on the captain's part--neither Joseph nor the other men had seen the chipping wood. As far as Joseph was concerned, the man was insufferable. 

"Ah, Nagel," Lieutenant Peter Wells greeted him at the door. "The Captain will be with you in a moment." 

Joseph remained silent while the ship creaked all around them. There was a cough from Captain Evans' quarters, a crash, and Peter rapped gently on the door. "Nagel is here, Captain." 

"Send him in," Evans said firmly. 

"You may enter, Nagel," Peter said in his snobbish voice. 

"Sir," he sneered and walked in. Captain Evans was sitting at his table, quill in hand. He did not look up when Joseph stepped inside, nor when he stopped at his writing desk. "You wanted to see me, sir?" 

"Yes." With a long fingernail, Evans scratched the side of his bony nose. "I want to make it very clear to you that I do not tolerate adequate work. I expect my carpenters to be the best, and do you know how one becomes _the best_, Nagel?" His beady eyes looked straight into Joseph's. "No? Hard work. Now, now, it's not to say that you are not trying, but you could try harder. And you _will_. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Now, we're going to have to refit--the mast is in such terrible condition, I'm surprised this ruddy ship even sails at all." Evans put his spectacles on, resting them on the tip of his long nose. "I've found the perfect spot, but I'll need you and your men to work quickly. We're to be in Egypt by this autumn." 

"_This_ autumn, sir?" Joseph questioned. He hoped he had heard wrong--that was when he would be meeting Emeline in London. 

"Yes," Evans answered without looking up. 

"But I thought we were going back to England," he prodded. "My wife and baby will be waiting for me there." 

"So send them a letter," Evans dismissed. 

"Send them a letter?" Joseph felt his anger rising. "I haven't seen my wife for four months, and you want me to send her a letter telling her I'm not coming? This wasn't the plan. We were to sail around, looking for French privateers to take, and then go back to England!" 

"Mr. Nagel, this is not your decision to make. This is your job." Evans glanced up. "And I will hear no more of this nonsense." 

"_Nonsense_? No, what's _nonsense_ is that you ever got a command in the first place!" Nagel shouted. 

Evans suddenly drew out his cane, whacking Joseph across the chest. "I will not tolerate such insolence!" Joseph coughed, the wind completely knocked out of him. "Wells!" 

Peter stumbled into the cabin. "Yes, sir?" 

"Clap this man in irons on the grounds of insubordination," Evans snarled, throwing his cane aside in fury. 

Peter quickly grabbed Joseph's arm and led him out of the room. "This way, now, move along," he muttered sternly, leading the carpenter by the crook of his elbow. Joseph walked silently, dismally aware of what would happen in a few hours. He would be flogged, and not without warrant. He _had_ been insubordinate; he had been stupid. When they reached the brig, Joseph willingly slipped his feet and hands into the cold metal shackles and let Peter lock him up. 

"That was stupid, you know," Peter said, putting his hands behind his back. 

Joseph let his head droop. He didn't want to look up at the lieutenant; he just wanted to forget it had happened. He hated to imagine the pain, having never been flogged before. He had seen it done, of course, but never experienced the agony. 

"Yes, you'll certainly be flogged," Peter went on smugly. "At _least_ five dozen lashes--any less would be insulting to the Captain." 

"What are you still here?" Joseph finally asked. "Don't you have any guarding to do?" he said flatly, looking up at him. 

A bemused expression fell upon Peter's face. "Actually, I'm to make sure that _you_ don't do anything rash. Scurvy victims have been known to gnaw through their chains." 

"Scurvy?" Joseph questioned with a tinge of fear in his voice. "I couldn't have I?" 

"Have you been eating enough limes?" Peter inquired, raising his eyebrows. "I dare say the lower ranks don't get enough." He glanced at his pocket watch, pleased at how he had sufficiently frightened him. "Well, you should be all right for a few hours. I'll come back before sunset." 

Joseph watched as the door closed, leaving him in the cold, dark brig to wallow in self-pity and self-doubt. How would he tell Emeline? He would not be seeing her in London after all, but when _would_ he? He thought about what he would say to her in the letter. He certainly wouldn't tell her about the flogging. No, she worried too much about him already. He would suffer, but she shouldn't have to. 

"One hundred!" the man shouted. Joseph wrapped his fingers around the grate more tightly, biting his already bleeding lip. "One hundred-twenty-one!" He could feel the blood trickling down his back. "One hundred-twenty-two!" He cried out, unable to bear the pain. Hot tears stained his cheeks, stinging every inch of skin they touched. The next three lashes melted into each other, and he nearly collapsed onto the deck when he was untied. "Joe, Joe," people were saying his name, but he hardly heard them. Their words were so quiet, so faint, disappearing before they reached his ears. 

"Joseph Nagel...carpenter's mate? Where's the _real_ carpenter? Not well? Oh, I see. Well, fix him up, I suppose. The Captain'll need him by tomorrow." 

Joseph let his eyes flutter open at the sound of a closing door. A pair of beady eyes behind thick spectacles was peering down at him. "Welcome back." The man giggled. "Didn't mean to pun, of course." 

Joseph cringed. It felt like a thousand needles were pricking him all over his back. "Where am I?" 

"The lacerations stretch onto your stomach, Mr. Nagel...why don't you turn over?" Joseph struggled to turn over, his back seeming to be tearing apart. He was in the infirmary with Doctor Marshe. He must have passed out after the last of the lashes. "Now, these wounds of yours are still bleeding quite badly." Marshe removed his spectacles. "Can you sit up?" 

"I'll try," Joseph said, pushing himself up. He watched the doctor gather up some cloth and some kind of salve. "What's that for?" 

"It's to heal your cuts." Marshe stepped behind Joseph and started rubbing the cool cream into his back. Joseph couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. He wasn't normally one to take off his shirt and this man was rubbing him with cream with the greatest ease. He started wrapping Joseph with cloth, stepping directly in front of him. Suddenly he stopped, peering intently at his stomach. Marshe grabbed his spectacles. "What is this? Have you been in any brawls?" 

Joseph shook his head. "No, the boys don't fight much." 

"Indeed." Marshe looked at him skeptically. He ran his finger along a dark line on his stomach. "Then what is this bruise, I wonder?" 

Joseph looked down. There was a long black mark that he knew was from the cane. He couldn't say anything--he would be flogged again, maybe worse, the next time. "From the whip, maybe." When Marshe didn't say anything, he blurted out, "I haven't been in any fights, honest!" 

Marshe remained silent and continued to wrap the bandage around his middle. When he was finished, he said quietly, "I want you to come see me again. Tomorrow, when you have a moment." 

"Is that really necessary?" Joseph asked uncomfortably. "There's nothin' wrong with me." 

"Who's the doctor here?" Marshe quirked up an eyebrow. 

"You are, sir," Joseph replied grimly. 

"Now," Marshe began, placing a hand on Joseph's arm, "you'll come tomorrow so I can have another look at that bruising. I wouldn't want there to be any internal damage." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good-night, Mr. Nagel." 

"Good-night, sir." Joseph, taking pains to move again, stood up, and shuffled out of the infirmary. There was something strange about that man...something very odd. It was late by the time he reached his hammock. All but a few of the men were off duty and fast asleep. Joseph wondered how he would ever get to sleep. Too many things were flooding through his mind: Anger, fear, sadness--he didn't know what to think. If he told Doctor Marshe what had happened, would the Captain find out? Would he be whipped again? He regretted ever wondering what it felt like and he never wanted to feel the pain again. 


	5. Chapter Five

Joseph wiped the sweat from his brow and stared into the water below. The ship had been in dire need of repair after the last battle. The men had a row on the birth deck and ending up springing a leak-he had spent half the day repairing it. On top of everything, he felt sick. 

"What are you doing up here?" one the lieutenants shouted, startling him. 

"Getting a bit of fresh air, sir," Joseph said quickly. "I'm off duty sir. No harm in that, is there?" 

"You're acting as head carpenter?" Joseph nodded. "The Captain wasn't pleased about some of your crew's behavior." 

"What happened?" he questioned, standing up. 

The young lieutenant shook his head. "There was a brawl, apparently. Those responsible are in the brig." He took off his hat and sighed, "The Captain runs a disciplined ship. God save those who stand in his way." He looked at Joseph. "You'd better get below deck. Captain Evans would be displeased with your actions." 

Joseph made his obedience and climbed down to the birth deck. Burton, one of the other carpenters, was mending a shirt. "Me last good one," he said when Joseph sat down next to him. 

"Did you lot have a fight?" Joseph asked. "Two of you landed in the brig?" 

Burton shrugged. "Somethin' along those lines may 'ave 'appened, yeah." He snapped the thread with his teeth. "Burns and Oakly, it were. They were arguin' about grog rations, I think. Each claimed the other was stealin' his grog, y'see." 

"Stupid, really, because Richards was doing it all along," another piped up. 

"He almost got caught, too," Burton explained. "Captain was furious." 

"You could almost see the horns coming out of his head!" another laughed. "One o' the Devil's servants, I'll bet." 

"Watch out for his hooves, boys!" The entire room full of men was laughing now. 

Joseph held back, remembering the promise he had made the day before to visit the doctor. He slipped out of the room, fixing his appearance to look acceptable for Doctor Marshe. When he reached the infirmary, he found the doctor sitting at his desk, poring over a large book. "Doctor?" 

Marshe jumped, surprised, and quickly closed the book. "Yes, Mr. Nagel?" 

"You wanted to see me again," Joseph said, stepping inside. 

"Of course, I always love to see you," Marshe replied, smiling. 

Joseph decided the doctor had misunderstood. "I mean, you _asked_ me to come so you could 'ave a look at my bruising." He started to remove his shirt time. 

"Oh, my--yes, the bruising! Of course!" Marshe stepped around him to shut the door. "Forgive me, Joseph, I completely forgot." 

"No 'arm, sir." He pulled his shirt over his head. "Same as yesterday, Doctor." 

"To the untrained eye, yes." Marshe peered at the bruises through his spectacles. "Does it hurt?" 

Joseph nodded. "Not near as much as the cuts on me back, though." He thought a moment while the man poked and prodded at his stomach. "Will they go away?" 

Marshe nodded. "In time. You will have some scars, though." He sighed. "If you need anything--anything at all--feel free to call upon me." He opened the door and Joseph walked out. 

He tipped it over the side," Richards said solemnly the next day. 

"All of it?" Burton asked worriedly. 

Richards nodded and Joseph said disbelievingly, "No more grog…that mad old codger." 

"Burns and Oakly were drunk when they started fighting," Burton said. "It drove the Captain off the deep end…if you don't mind me sayin' so." 

"You should've seen the fire in his eyes, Joe," Richards said in awed tones. "Too bad you were fixing that leak." 

"Too bad?" Joseph repeated. Then again, more loudly, "_Too bad_? I would've done something!" 

"Done what?" Richards challenged. 

"Stopped it--I dunno," Joseph replied desperately. "But I wouldn't have sat on my arse like some bloody coward!" 

"Language, Joe," Burton warned him. "The Captain won't like it." 

"Damn him and all his rules!" Joseph nearly shouted. "We can't let him do this to us!" 

"Well 'e 'as," Burton said firmly. "And there ain't nothin' you or anyone else can do about it." 

Burton was right; Joseph had no choice but to admit that. They had no control--no power over anything bad that was happening. They were stuck there with no grog and a captain that would kill a man as soon as look at him. Burns and Oakly were flogged the very next morning, not to mention keelhauled and then flogged again. They were both vomiting up blood and seawater by the end of the day. It made Joseph nearly sick to watch, but he had to. The crew was required to witness all punishments, large or small. 

Joseph's blood was boiling as he recounted the day's events to his crewmates for the third time that night. "Let it be a lesson, he says. I'd like to see _him_ keelhauled." 

"Drawn and quartered, more like," Richards snarled, sitting down. "Poor Burns is still with the doctor. He keeps vomiting…Marshe doesn't know what to do. He gave him something to calm is stomach-like, but that came right up as well." He shook his head. "All that sea water's gone to his head--can't remember, can't even think straight." 

"How's Oakly doing?" Burton questioned, spooning some brown lumps into his mouth. The food was never very desirable, but was especially disgusting aboard this ship. "Is he out of the infirmary?" 

Richards nodded. "He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep." 

"If anyone needs it, it's him," Joseph said through a mouthful of food. He reached for his cup, then, realizing it wasn't filled with grog, he let his fist slam down. "Bloody hell--what are we doing anyway?" 

Burton looked taken aback. "Eh?" 

Joseph shook his head, exasperated and rather flustered, and stood up. "I've had enough of this--I'm going to see Oakly." He left the table and stomped out of the mess hall toward the hammocks. It was dark; a few lanterns were lit, but they didn't create enough light to see much of anything. "Oaks," he said. "Oakly, you awake?" He found his hammock and shook him. "Oakly, what's the matter?" The man did not stir and Joseph grabbed a lantern. He shined it on the prostrate sailor and nearly fell. "Oaks…" Oakly was cold as stone and very pale. His clothes were stained red and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He was dead. 


	6. Chapter Six

"Doctor Marshe!" Joseph burst into the doctor's quarters. "Doctor!" 

Marshe looked up. "Yes? What is going on, Mr. Nagel?" 

"It's Oakly, sir," Joseph said frantically, "he's hurt--there's something wrong with him." 

Marshe threw on a coat and followed the carpenter down the dark corridor. When they reached the crew's quarters, Joseph led him to Oakly's hammock. Marshe held up a candle to the body and immediately checked his pulse. "He _is_ dead," Marshe said softly. "There doesn't seem to be any external damage." He turned to Joseph. "He was flogged." 

"Nearly four 'undred lashes, sir," Joseph added. 

"And keelhauled." 

Joseph nodded. "Not to mention the beating that Evans must've given him," he said without thinking. 

Marshe stopped the stared at him. "Beating? Whatever do you mean?" 

"Erm…well, what I meant was this," Joseph stuttered. He had never told _anyone_ about Captain Evans caning him, not even the other crewmembers. He decided remaining silent would be better. 

"Joseph, if you have something to say about Captain Evans, you had better say it," Marshe said with a twinge of impatience. Joseph said nothing, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Come now, Mr. Nagel, speak up." 

"I can't." 

"You must," Marshe insisted. 

Joseph shook his head. "We'd better tell the Captain about Oakly, sir." He started untying the strings of the hammock. "Could you get the other side, Doctor?" 

Marshe nodded solemnly and slowly untied the strings. Within a few minutes, he went to summon the captain. 

Joseph paced around the room, stepping carefully around Oakly's body. _No external damage_, he thought disbelievingly. "Evans killed 'im," he muttered. He couldn't believe it. Oakly's eyes were open, wide as ever. It was hard to look at, that corpse. "Oh, stop it, Oakly," he said, suddenly angry. "_I_ didn't kill you!" He knelt down and covered his face with the hammock, and he stared at the bloodstains on the dirtied white fabric. "Jesus, Oakly…what did he do to you? What makes a man bleed from the inside?" 

"I said _throw_ him _overboard_!" Evans shouted in annoyed tones from down the corridor. 

"What about a funeral," Marshe said desperately. "The Lord's Prayer!" 

"What about them?" Evans questioned sharply. 

Marshe looked taken aback. "Well, these are things you do for men who die at sea!" he whispered urgently, trying to keep his voice down. 

They both stopped in front of the corpse and Evans shot back nastily, "No. Those are things done for _honorable_ men--not filthy criminals." He suddenly turned to Joseph. "You--what are _you_ doing here?" 

"I--I found the body, sir," Joseph stammered. "The doctor and I--we cut him down in his hammock-like." He pointed. 

"Fine," Evans sneered. "Now, I'm sure you'd like to return to your carousing." 

"Sir." Joseph saluted to each of them and went back to the mess. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he found some of his friends and told them what had happened. 

"So it was all internal, eh?" Burton asked. He motioned to his chest and stomach wearily. "Bleedin'…on the inside?" He shuddered. 

"Probably from the cane," Richards spoke up. 

"Eh?" Burton asked, 

Joseph perked up and Richards laid his hands on the table. "You think these marks on me fingers are from tugging on ropes?" 

"So he beat you too?" Joseph inquired. 

"Evans beats us all," Richards said quietly. "When his lieutenants are looking the other way, he's flailing that cane around with the devil's spirit in his hand." 

"This can't go on, boys," Joseph said at length. "He's killed one and nearly killed the other, and for what? A little fisticuffs?" He looked around at the steadily growing group of men surrounding him. "And we're all next. Who's to say Burton doesn't drop dead tomorrow? What's stopping him?" 

"Me!" one of the younger boys said excitedly. 

Joseph hard found his voice now, and he was anxious to rally the men. Evans had gone too far. "He took our lives!" 

"And our rum!" Burton shouted. 

"And we're not going to take it anymore!" Joseph finished with a yell from the crew. 

"Not going to take _what_ anymore, Mr. Nagel?" rang out Evans's cold voice. 

"Get 'im!" Burton cried, and they all attacked. 

Joseph hadn't even gotten near Evans before a marine grabbed him. It had not been a very successful mutiny, but if they'd had more time, Joseph thought, they could have pulled it off. He sat in the brig with many of his shipmates. They were being transferred to another ship under a new captain. Evans didn't trust them not to mutiny again and he didn't have the guts to have them all arrested. Apart from that, the other captain was in desperate need of more crewmen. He hugged his knees, resting his head on top of them, and only perked up at the sound of a young man's voice. 

"Listen up. Captain Evans wants you all on deck immediately. I'm to escort you all to the _HMS Surprise_. Follow me, please." 

Joseph got up and found that the young man was Peter Wells. "_You_ again…sir." He followed Peter up onto the deck. 

Peter smirked, "Well, I guess this is good-bye, Nagel. I shall miss you, of course." 

"Right." Joseph replied sullenly. He waited for his turn as one by one, the Defenders boarded the _Surprise_. 

"Joseph! Mr. Nagel! Wait!" 

He turned and found Doctor Marshe racing towards him. He stepped aside, letting the other sailors pass. "Yes, Doctor?" He waited as Marshe caught his breath. 

"Joseph, I…just wanted to let you know…that I'll miss you." 

He stared at the doctor, confused. "Sir?" 

"Good-bye," he said and threw his arms around the carpenter. He kissed both of Joseph's cheeks and then his lips. "Don't forget to write," he said quietly before tearing off. 

Joseph blinked, completely befuddled, then got back into line. He trudged onto the _Surprise_ with his gunnysack slung over his shoulder. There was a tall man standing on the deck beside Captain Evans. He was a bit heavy and he wore his hat sideways, something that was now uncommon. Evans appeared to be ranting to the other captain, gesticulating wildly as he said, "You've got to take them. I can't possibly handle these…these _mutineers_," he spat. 

The other captain nodded solemnly and he said to one of his lieutenants, "That one," he looked straight at Joseph, "he led the mutiny, Mowett." 

"Well, it wasn't _quite_ a mutiny, sir," said Mowett. 

"He's a good carpenter, though," the captain said thoughtfully, ignoring the young man. "I don't trust him, to be perfectly truthful, but…we'll see, I suppose." 

"We certainly will, sir," Mowett replied. "Shall I get their names, sir?" 

"Yes, Mr. Mowett, add their names to the ship's log." He stepped in front of the group of Defenders and announced in a loud voice, "I am Captain Aubrey and while you work on _my_ ship, you will abide by my laws and the laws of the British Empire. Lieutenant Mowett will receive your names and your positions aboard the _Defender_. When you have given your name and rank, you will go to the berth deck where my lieutenants will brief you." Aubrey nodded meaningfully to the men and walked swiftly away. 

"I'll take your names, please," Mowett said, rocking on the balls of his feet and looking pleased with himself. "Let's start with you." 

"Amos Sheffield," a boy said. "Erm…able seaman." 

"And you," Mowett said. 

"Joseph Nagel, carpenter's mate," he said slowly. 

"Jacob Burns, carpenter's mate," he coughed. Even after several weeks, he still had not recovered. 

Mowett went on, taking all of their names, until all twenty-three had disappeared below deck. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Sorry for the incredibly long wait. I'm kind of burned out on ideas, frankly. I want to continue this, but I don't know what to do next. Once again, I've dug myself into a hole. I do it quite frequently, as you might know if any of you reading this have read any of my other unfinished stories. So, once again, sorry for the wait. I hope you do read what I have written, though.

_Dear Emeline,_

_I know I promised you there would be no mutiny, but there was. Don't worry. I was not hurt. Peter is fine as well. I miss you more than anything now that I am on this ship. I was transferred to the HMS Surprise, so I will not see your brother anymore. I received your last letter. How is the little girl? I wish I could see her. And you. I think this Jack Aubrey (my captain) will be better. I will see you again. I promise._

_Love, Joseph_

_Give my love to Ana._

Emeline wiped her nose with her handkerchief. She had not seen her husband for almost a year. He had promised her that they would meet so many times that she had lost count. And now, mutiny, a new captain, and no hope of ever seeing him again. She stepped over to the fireplace, tearing the letter as she walked. With tears in her eyes, she tossed the paper scraps into the fire.

"Emeline?" a man called. "Emeline, love, come to bed." He came up behind her, kissing her cheek and taking her hands. "Have you been crying?" he asked, feeling her wet cheeks.

"It's nothing, Stephen," she lied. Emeline smoothed out his collar. "I'll be there in a moment."

"As long as you're all right," he said a little worriedly.

"Yes," she replied softly, "I'm fine."

"Well, come, then," he prodded, pulling on her hands. "The rest will do you good." A baby cried in another room and Emeline pulled away. "Emeline—"

"I've got to tend to the baby," she said in pained tones. She left the room. "Ana, my little one," she cooed. Emeline hugged her daughter to her chest. "Your father sends his love." Inside she hoped Joseph lived to see his daughter, but she had little hope. She laid the baby back down in her crib and doused the lamp.

Stephen was waiting for her in the bedroom. "What is it? I don't believe it is nothing."

"Well it is," she answered shortly, climbing into bed.

"Please let me stay with you tonight," he said softly. "I think you could use the…the comfort," he finished gently.

Her first reaction was to ask him to leave, but she refrained. "You may stay," she said slowly, "but there's something you need to know. I'm ma—"

"Married," he finished for her. "I know. I saw the letters." He cupped her face in his hands and moved closer. When she pulled away, Stephen said quietly, "If he returns, I'll leave—I will tell no one." The second time his lips neared hers, she did not resist, and that night she made love for the first time since her wedding night.

Joseph stirred in his sleep. It was a cold winter night in the English port. They would be setting sail in two days. He had worked it all out: He would take a carriage to his house in the morning and get there by the afternoon. He put on his shoes and grabbed his cap. But since he was up anyway…

He rapped on the door. The sun was shining brightly and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Joseph waited impatiently, trying to peek through windows and ringing the bell constantly.

Finally the door opened. The tall woman was holding a baby in her arms. Her long red curls fell untidily on her shoulders. "Joseph," she said breathlessly.

He quickly removed his hat. "Hello, Emeline." Tears were welling up in her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. "I missed you."

She shifted the baby to her hip and hugged him tightly. "I spent so many nights alone without you." She kissed his cheeks and his lips. "This is your daughter. Ana, this is your father."

Joseph held the tiny baby in his arms. She had his dark hair, but Emeline's blue eyes. "She's beautiful, just like her mother. I…I don't know what to say." He felt rather awkward now that they were finally together. Their conversational exchanges were almost uncomfortable.

"How long do you have?" she asked later that night.

"You mean before I have to go back?" He paused. "We leave at midday tomorrow."

"That doesn't leave us much time together," Emeline observed quietly, absently playing with Ana's hair. She sighed. "You know, we never did get married, Joe…in a church, like we talked about."

"I want to, Emeline, believe me," he said honestly, "but I'm just not given the time. I shouldn't even be here now, if you want the truth."

"Well, maybe they'll fire you, then," she said hopefully.

"Hang me, more like," he muttered.

"That's not funny, Joseph Nagel," Emeline said with annoyance in her voice. "I don't want you working on those ships—they're dangerous! I can't tell you how many times I've heard about boys drowning on this side of town."

"Emeline!" he interrupted loudly. "I don't know if you know this, but the only reason you're still _alive _is because of me and this job. I _need _this job and I don't want to lose it. Most men volunteer for this. It pays well—makes poor men rich, it does."

"You don't need to shout at me," Emeline said sullenly. "I know you need the job, but I worry about you."

"Save yourself the trouble and stop." She glared at him and immediately stood up. Hugging Ana close, she walked away irritably. He stared after her. He couldn't believe that within a few hours they were already disagreeing. He loved his wife, but something was wrong.


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: I'm trying to get this finished, so hopefully the next part will be coming soon. I have difficulty ending stories, and it's up to about twenty pages, now. Any suggestions in the reviews would be greatly appreciated, especially if you readers want any kind of resolution.

"I don't have much time left, Emeline," Joseph said quietly. "I should really be leaving." She watched him, her eyes hard, but unrevealing. "Is there anything you want to say before I go?" He knew something was on her mind, something she was refusing to tell him. She shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Now I suppose you don't trust me?" she snapped.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Joe!" she said, exasperated. "I'm not hiding anything from you. Maybe you should get back to your ship." After a moment, she said with a tinge of annoyance, "I wouldn't want you to get hanged for _my _sake."

He refrained from retorting, though what he really wanted to do was give her a good beating. He kissed Ana's small forehead and his wife's cheek, and went towards the door. As he was turning the knob, the doorbell chimed. With a questioning glance at his wife, he opened the door.

The man quickly took off his hat and looked terribly embarrassed. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I must be at the wrong house." He looked around Joseph, spotting Emeline. Joseph didn't take his eyes off of the man.

"You're sure you're at the wrong house, sir?" Joseph asked.

The man suddenly turned to him again. "Pardon? Oh, yes. I'm certain. Sorry to disturb you." He tipped his hat. "Ma'am." Joseph watched the man leave, then he kissed his wife's cheek softly again. "Look out for yourself, all right?" He nodded at his daughter. "Keep her safe." He glanced behind him, through the door. "You know I love you very much, Emeline." Her red lips quivered as she nodded, and he turned and walked out the door. The man who had called was still near, pretending to be admiring some rosebushes. He wore a fancy black suit and top hat. He clanked up, saw Joseph, and, panicking, starting walking away.

"Sir!" Joseph called, running to catch up with him.

The man stopped and turned around, a guilty look on his face. "I apologize again for disturbing you, sir. I mean no harm by it at all," he said quickly.

Joseph nodded understandingly, then pushed him up against the nearest wall. "Stay away from my wife, you 'ear? Because if you touch her, I'll know. And when I find out, so help me God, I'll hunt you down and cut your throat."

He let the man go and he rubbed his neck where the collar had cut into it. Joseph gave him one last glare before walking away. He had to hurry or the ship would leave without him.

When he boarded the _HMS Surprise_, it was like a completely different ship. He spotted many men he didn't know, but also some he had never even seen before. He headed toward the ladder, hoping to slip onto the ship, unnoticed.

"Name?" Apparently that wasn't going to be possible. "Name, I said."

"Joseph Nagel, sir," he finally replied.

"Rank?" the man asked.

"Carpenter's mate, sir."

The squat man murmured absently as he scribbled notes. Suddenly, he stopped. "Nagel, you said? Joseph Nagel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why, it appears you're already _on _the roster." He stared at Joseph. "Why are you on the roster but _not _on the ship, Mr. Nagel?"

"Erm, I went for a walk, sir," he said. It was partly true. "I swear, sir, I wasn't gone more'n half an hour."

"Why did you leave the ship," the man began, annoyed, "when you knew full well that the Captain specifically requested that _no one _set one foot on dry land?"

Joseph looked confused. When had Captain Aubrey said that? "Honest, sir, I didn't know."

"Wait." He looked at the roster again. "You're one of those mutineers, aren't you, from the _Defender_? Well, then this defiance makes perfect sense. Perhaps a day in the brig would smarten you up?"

"Watson!"

"Lieutenant Pullings, sir!" The squat man, Watson, saluted stiffly. "I did not see you, sir."

"Yes, well, men were not blessed with eyes in the back of their skulls. It is a pity, though." Pullings was fairly young, much younger than Watson, but he seemed to significantly outrank him. "Do you not have better things to do, Mr. Watson, than terrify new recruits?"

"He's not new, sir, he came from the _Defender_, sir!" Watson squeaked, hurrying after Pullings as he walked away.

"Regardless," Pullings dismissed. "The Captain has other business for you to attend to."

Joseph sighed, relieved. He'd just narrowly escaped a day in chains in the brig. He heard a squeal, and then some loud laughter coming from the docks, and looked over the side. A young man about his own age was kissing a girl passionately on the mouth. He watched her twisting her fingers around his golden curls once they had parted. Joseph could imagine what loving words they were exchanging. He wondered how long it would last, thinking of his own marriage.

"I love you!" she cried as he came onboard. "Come back soon!"

"Don't worry! And I love you too!" the man called back to her. He was beaming as he slipped onto the ship, and, unlike Joseph, managed not to be seen.

He leaned against the rail, watching his girl walk off, and sighed dreamily.

"Is that your wife?" Joseph asked, looking at him.

After staring at Joseph for a moment, he replied, "Been married for a while now, but I swear, the passion's still there." He stuck out his hand and Joseph accepted it. "Name's Will Warley."

"Joe Nagel."

"It's a pleasure, Joe." He sighed again. "You're new, aren't you? I can't rightly place you."

"I was on the _Defender_ before I came here," Joseph explained. "Mutineer, you know."

Will's face suddenly became filled with awe. "A mutineer, eh?" His eyes shifted back and forth furtively, and he leaned in closer, whispering, "Did you kill anyone?" Joseph rolled his eyes. "Really, did you?"

"Not personally," he said.

"I've never killed a soul," Will admitted, a little shyly. "This is my first time on a long voyage like this. I reckon you've been in battle loads of times, eh, Joe?"  
Joseph brushed a fly from the side of his face. "Besides the mutiny, I haven't been in any close combat."

Will eyed him. "I would've thought you tougher than that."

"Who said I wasn't tough?" Joseph demanded. Will laughed and Joseph found himself laughing as well. He stared out at the sea and ran a hand through his hair, biting back another chuckle. "Will," he said, suddenly serious again, "is he a fair captain?"

"Lucky Jack?" Will smiled. "A right fair man, he is, or I'm no sailor."

"Why do they call him 'Lucky' Jack?" Joseph asked, curious.

Will shook his head, exhaling slowly. "Some of the men could tell you stories of the money they've brought back, ones who've served under him longer. Amazing tales, with gold and jewels, more prize money than you could ever imagine." Will got a dreamy look in his eyes. "I'm hoping we catch that privateer. Think of it, Joe." He gave him a friendly shove. "I could take my wife to one of those fancy dressmakers."

Joseph thought about what he would do with all of that money. He'd marry Emeline, he decided, and marry her proper. He hoped that when the time came, she would still have him. That was what she had always wanted. She could buy herself a pretty white gown and he might even be able to afford a suit, one like the man's who he'd met earlier. He thought about the rich man again. Had Emeline found someone else? Had he come to her or had she sought him out?

"Joe," Will said, breaking his trance. "Articles of War." He nodded toward the gathering crowd.

Joseph snorted. His last captain had never read the Articles of War aloud to them. That way they had to keep on their toes for fear of breaking one of the laws and not knowing it until it was too late.

Jack Aubrey stepped up to the podium. He cleared his throat and began reading the laws that were before him. Joseph had found Captain Aubrey imposing when he had met him before and nothing had changed. He was still as powerful-looking as ever. Each time he looked up from the book, his eyes pierced a different sailor. Joseph tried to keep his eyes on the captain, but they instead wandered to the boys to the left of him. They were young, all wearing blue uniforms and top hats. One of them was significantly older. He looked nervous, standing up there, and somewhat out of place. All of the sudden, their eyes met, and Joseph quickly flicked his eyes toward Captain Aubrey again. After a minute or two, he glanced back at the tall midshipman. There was something strange about him—his age, the way he stood, the mournful look about him. It was a stunning contrast to the boy next to him. Joseph saw pride in his shining eyes. He was full of hope and ambition and honor. This was a boy Captain Aubrey would have asked for had he been given a choice.

"Article 20: If any person in or belonging to the fleet shall make or endeavor to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretence whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death: and if any person in or belonging to the fleet shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny, he shall suffer death, or such other punishment as a court martial shall deem him to deserve: and if any officer, mariner, or soldier on or belonging to the fleet, shall behave himself with contempt to his superior officer, being in the execution of his office, he shall be punished according to the nature of his offence by the judgment of a court martial." It was here Captain Aubrey looked straight at Joseph. He wondered if the captain recognized him. Joseph already knew he was a stern captain, but Will had said he was fair. As long as he kept in line, he would be fine. He had no reason to mutiny again…at least, he hoped he didn't.


	9. Chapter Nine

Joseph drank his ration of lime juice quickly. It stung his throat and made his lips pucker forwards. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw one of the midshipmen spit his out.

"Joe, I need your help." He turned and found Mr. Lamb walking away, beckoning for Joseph to follow. He followed the carpenter all the way down to the hull of the ship.

He suddenly found himself ankle-deep in water. Joseph look down and all around. "Sir," he said worriedly, "What's all this water doing here?"

Mr. Lamb handed him a chisel and a hammer. "We sprung a leak." He looked over the side of the ship, running his hands along the wooden planks. "Don't know how, though. Makes no sense to me." He walked a little further. "It's a slow leak now, but it'll get worse, mark my words." There was a makeshift cork in the hole, and Mr. Lamb grabbed the hammer from Joseph, preparing to strike. "Be ready, Joe."

"Yes, sir." Joseph watched as the carpenter started hammering at the cork. Luckily it didn't worsen the leak, but stopped it completely.

Mr. Lamb sighed, relieved. "We'll have to fix this once we get to England. Third day at sea and we spring a leak," he muttered. "I tell ye, Joe, you mark this: this won't take another beating. This hole's going to open up again."

"Sir." Mr. Lamb sat down and he did the same. "Erm, sir, I want to thank you for treating me as one o' your own like you have, sir."

Mr. Lamb's brow furrowed. "I know what you've been through, Joe." A look of pity appeared in his eyes that reminded Joseph of Burt, the carpenter he had been apprentice to. "I spoke to one of your shipmates. He told me what a tyrant he was."

Joseph shifted uncomfortably; he didn't want to seem weak. "Well, there's nothing can be done now." His hand wandered absently to his chest.

"I know why you mutinied—you had to." He stood up and patted Joseph. "Captain Aubrey's not like that. He's a wonderful man and fair if anything."

Joseph waited until he could no longer hear Mr. Lamb's footsteps. Tentatively, he pulled off his shirt, and examined his chest and stomach. Traces of the bruises were still there, owing to the extremity of the beating. He lowered his head and rubbed his forehead. He missed Emeline. He loved her and he wanted to marry her. Perhaps when he returned from this voyage he would. He missed her warmth, her smile, and her touch. He wanted to raise his daughter—she was half his and deserved to know her father.

"Joe!" It was Will. He laughed. "What are you doing, going for a swim?"

Joseph quickly put his shirt back on and waded through the water until he reached the stepladder.

Will handed him a mug. "I got you some grog."

"Thanks, mate." He drank deeply from his mug and wiped his mouth on his already dirty sleeve.

"What were you doing?"

"Thinking," Joseph replied. Will nodded. After a long while, he said suddenly, "I'm not really married."

"How do you mean?" Will asked, puzzled. "You told me about her…erm…Emily, was it?"

"Emeline," he said, nodding. "I said we were, because we _are_, but—but we're not." Will scratched the back of his head, confused. "We haven't done it proper-like, in a church. You follow?"

"And? Why're you so bothered?" Will took another gulp of his grog. "You've a child—you're basically married anyway."

A pained expression crossed Joseph's face he admitted, "She's got another man. I saw him not a week ago outside our house." Anger mingled with his heartache when he demanded, "What's stopping her from marryin' him, eh? She's got a child, yeah, but she's lying to me, isn't she? Shouldn't be hard to lie to a priest."

Will looked uncomfortable and was very still. "Sorry, Joe. I wish there was something I could do." He took a few paces. "Er…supper, Joe."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm coming." There was no use in dwelling on things he couldn't do anything about.


	10. Chapter Ten

They had been at sea for several months now. Their mission was to intercept the _Acheron_, a French ship. It was turning out to be quite difficult for everyone. They had been attacked already and there were several sailors killed, and many others wounded. But Captain Aubrey would not give up. The orders were always to press on, even through storms.

Joseph watched Will climb up the mast to pull in the sail. He had to be honest with himself—he was worried. The rain pounded down and the wind was blowing so hard. And there went Hollom up the mast to help him. Hollom…Joseph narrowed his eyes. Since the first time he saw him, he knew he was trouble. The man was a walking disaster—a Jonah. Bad luck followed him wherever he went.

Suddenly there was a loud crack, and the mast broke. It crashed into the water, and Will along with it. Joseph could not say or do anything for a moment, and then he was screaming, "Man overboard!" The next several minutes seemed to last for hours, and by the end of it he had shouted himself hoarse. It had all been in vain, of course, because Will, despite how many times Joseph had affirmed he would, did not make it back to the ship. Joseph himself had taken part in cutting his only path to safety from the _Surprise_. Though it had saved many lives, he could never forgive himself for that.

He glared at Hollom through narrowed eyes. Here, concealed in darkness, could he fully loathe the man responsible for William Warley's death. His fist clenched and he gritted his teeth. Somehow he knew Hollom would pay dearly, and he couldn't help but feel he would be to blame. That old mutinous feeling rose up within him again and he had no desire to stop it.

_fin_


End file.
